Page 11 of Claimed by a Highlander
The men of the clan, including Brian, were accustomed to following Hector. He had made sure of it. During Brian’s minority, Hector had kept him under his thumb instead of training him to lead. But if Brian had the will now, he could assert his power as chieftain. Thanks to Rory, he was becoming increasingly difficult to control.
There was an obvious solution. Hector nodded to himself as a sense of certainty settled over him. The challenge would be to make certain the blame was not laid at his door.
But one way or another, Rory must die.
As the riders crossed the bridge to the castle, Hector went inside and waited for Big Duncan in the laird’s chamber, which was the largest in the castle and furnished with Flemish tapestries and heavy carved furniture. He had taken the chamber for his own use after his brother died and he was named Brian’s tutor. He had not given it up when Brian came of age. And why should he? He was still the man who ruled Clan MacKenzie, and everyone knew it.
Finally, the guard who stood outside the door opened it to admit Big Duncan, who looked as if he had ridden long and hard to reach the castle. The man was as ugly as he was large, and he had particular needs that Hector supplied to ensure his continued loyalty.
“What news of Rory?” Hector asked as soon as the door was closed.
“I split up the Gairloch men I took with me, and we searched everywhere,” Big Duncan said. “We couldn’t find him.”
“Couldn’t find him?” Hector drained his cup and threw it against the wall. “God damn that Rory.”
“No one has seen him in weeks,” Duncan said. “Not since that argument he had with Brian. Perhaps he’s gone for good.”
Rory had gone before, but he always returned like a bad-luck charm. He would come back to protect his brother. And when he did, Hector would be ready for him.
CHAPTER 4
“We should sleep,” the Highlander said, and stretched out on the blanket beside her.
Sybil felt uneasy with him lying prone so close to her. Though he had made no advances toward her yet, he certainly had looked at her as if he’d like to. Even if she was wrong about that—which she wasn’t—lying next to a man was bound to put ideas into his head. She had learned that at fourteen when she lay on her back watching the clouds with the blacksmith’s son.
“I’m in a verra weakened state with my injured leg,” the Highlander said, “so don’t try seducing me.”
She could not help smiling. She appreciated that he had read her fears and tried to calm them with a jest.All the same, she intended to wait to lie down until he was sound asleep. She clutched her knees to her chest and tucked her chin into her cloak. With nightfall, the air had grown icy cold.
“Can we not have a fire?” she whispered.
“’Tis not safe,” the Highlander said. “Tomorrow we should be far enough away to risk a fire, but not now.”
“I thought we lost the queen’s men. Do ye think they’re still following us?” she asked, peering into the black night.
“I can’t say for certain that they’re not,” he said, his voice fading. “Go to sleep, Sybil. We must rise early, and we’ve a long journey ahead of us.”
Their journey together would end tomorrow. Oddly, she was growing rather fond of her Highlander.Though shewas safe with him for tonight, she could not continue the pretense of being his contracted bride much longer. She needed a more lasting solution to her problem.
Before long, the Highlander’s steady breathing told her he had fallen asleep. She took down her hair, loosened the laces of her bodice, and gingerly lay down at the very edge of the blanket with her back to him.
Heavens, she would never sleep like this. Though she left as much space as possible between them, they were nearly touching. She could hear him breathe and feel the heat of his body.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the dark night clouds racing across the sky. What was she going to do? The tides of royal politics were bound to turn eventually. Until then, she needed a sanctuary, a place where she could wait out the queen’s wrath. Where could she go?
Small animals rustled through the grass, the wind blew overhead, and a lonely owl hooted in the distance. The unfamiliar sounds of the night made her suddenly feel very much alone. She had been uprooted, taken from everyone and everything she knew. She prepared herself for a long, sleepless night.
“Sybil.” The Highlander spoke her name in a low voice, heavy with sleep, and it gave her that odd, fluttery sensation in her stomach again.
“Aye?”
“Ye mustn’t worry that I brought no other men with me,” he said. “I promise I will keep ye safe.”
She knew better than to trust a man who promised that. Had her brothers not made the same pledge? And yet a deep calm settled over her as she listened to the Highlander’s steady breathing, and she drifted off to sleep.
***
Rory was roused from a deep sleep by misery and lust. The wound on his leg felt as if a blacksmith was pounding on it with a fiery axe, while Sybil’s soft rump pressed against his groin ignited another kind of flame.
